


Hands In The Dirt

by learninghowtosmut



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: But adult Romano too, Chibi Romano (Hetalia), Flowers, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 02:49:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15832221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/learninghowtosmut/pseuds/learninghowtosmut
Summary: Looking back at when Spain taught little Romano how to garden, and how it's affected him in the modern day. Pure fluff.Part of the Spamano Discord's Xmas in July event





	Hands In The Dirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darkyfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkyfoot/gifts).



He has a little patch of the garden to himself, near enough to the house that he can look out of the window and see his  _ (their) _ hard work paying off.    
  
Little Romano hadn’t been sure about it at first. He could see how much Spain enjoyed bringing life to the dirt, but it looked like hard work, and why should  _ he _ care? He didn’t want to spend hours on his knees in the dirt, ripping up weeds or trimming away branches for what he could see as being no particular reason at all. But Spain wouldn’t let him just sit and watch, oh no. He spent most of one particularly wet winter asking what flowers he liked, getting out books and pointing at the illustrations in them with the endless “This one? Don’t you think it’s pretty?”   
  
He’d fobbed him off with whatever answers he thought would get the annoying bastard away from him and let him just sit in front of the fire in peace. Oh, how he regretted not paying better attention to this when the wheel of the year turned and Spring at last arrived.   
  
Spain brings him outside, acting like he’s got the best surprise ever in store for him. Is it a new pet? A new pony? Some statue he’d had commissioned and wants to show off?   
  
Nope. None of the above.   
  
It’s a square of  _ dirt _ . And he’s pointing at it with a beam on his face like this is the best gift  _ ever _ .   
  
Romano just stares blankly. “It’s… dirt.” He’s looked at it; can they go back inside now?   
  
“It’s  _ your _ dirt!” He waves over a servant holding a small crate with a few little packets of carefully folded paper, each of them painstakingly labelled.   
  
Romano stares some more.   
  
“I made a little garden! Just for you!”   
  
_ What, _ Romano thinks. If he’d wanted to give him something, couldn’t he have gone for something better than this? Like a pet from the New World. Or a new toy (even though he’s totally too big for toys, yeah). Just - anything better than a square of  _ dirt! _   
  
He’s talking without pause, apparently oblivious to Romano’s decidedly less-than-stellar reaction, babbling about seeds and plants and growth and care and  _ responsibility _ and he seems to be all but bouncing with excitement at the thought of getting his little charge on his hands and knees in the dirt.   
  
Romano wrinkles up his nose and refuses, but apparently he doesn’t have a choice in this. He spends the next few months doing planting and weeding and watering under Spain’s close supervision. The seeds he’s gathered are planted carefully and, at first, he doesn’t see what the fuss is all about. It’s dirt. It’s plain dirt with nothing going on except some weeds he has to pull up. Then there’s sprouts that need to be taken care of. Stupid things can’t get rid of the weeds on their own? Why the hell would anyone do this willingly?   
  
Up until this point, he’d been under the impression that plants just…  _ happen _ . Now he knows how much work goes into it and he wants even less to do with this whole thing.   
  
He kneels in the dirt, idiot Spain beside him, with a new straw hat to shade him from the sun. Sometimes he pulls up an actual  _ plant _ by accident, rather than a weed, but Spain patiently shows him how to fix it. He shows him how to looks at the leaves and see if it’s something he doesn’t want to be growing there, or if it’s something that wants to be nurtured.   
  
Then, after weeks of hard work, they start getting bigger, they begin to flourish under his care. The plants grow stronger and taller every day. Spain praises him, tells him how good a job he’s doing.   
  
“Look at how  _ happy _ they are, Romanito! They’re getting so big and strong! You’re doing such a great job!” He runs a finger down a broad leaf with a big dumb smile.   
  
_ He’s _ the one who did this, Romano realises. This wouldn’t exist  _ without him _ . He made this life happen.   
  
When the first buds start to grow, that’s when he begins to spend more and more time caring for them. He checks every single leaf for sign of nibbles from bugs. He makes sure no weeds are threatening to choke them up. They’re  _ his _ .  _ He did this _ . These plants wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him.   
  
Morning and afternoon, in the heavy summer heat, he drags water up to them and makes sure they’re not thirsty. He talks to them and rants about the day’s annoyances. They don’t listen, but he still feels better for having done it. And they grow.   
  
When the flowers are finally fully in bloom, he gets help to cut them into a bunch and carries them proudly into the house, where they decorate Spain’s desk until long after they’ve wilted. He’s so  _ proud _ of what he did, and that really is too adorable.   
  
The next year, he asks about things that can be grown to eat, and Spain eagerly finds him a few new seeds. The meal they make with the food he’s grown is one of the best-tasting things of his life. Sure, there were a couple of casualties to his inexperience, but for the most part? He does a really good job.    
  
The garden is his own little domain, and it flourishes.   
  
Flash forwards to the future, to the modern era, and his home is filled with plants. A little herb garden in the kitchen window, small pots of cheerful flowers in his bedroom, and a well-loved garden stretching out outside. He spends a good amount of his free time crouched in the sun with dirt under his fingers, pulling up the weeds that threaten his plants. He might not have had a natural knack for gardening, but he’s put the work in to develop his skill. This green thumb is something he’s worked hard to have, and his garden is all the more beautiful for it.   
  
His tomatoes are bright and juicy, perfect for the dinner he’s making. He uses the herbs from his kitchen garden, the vegetables and fruits he’s grown himself, and just before his guest is expected, a vase of freshly-cut dahlias and carnations goes onto the table.   
  
There’s a knock at the door. He goes past that tattered old sunhat hanging beside it, opens it, and greets the man behind with a kiss.   
  
“You’re  _ late _ , idiot,” he scolds him fondly before going in for another kiss.   
  
“I’m still here!” Spain insists with that dumbass charming smile, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him back in close.   
  
Romano laughs and bounces up on his toes to kiss him again. “Are you coming in or what?”


End file.
